


Black Beetle Pies

by TheNeptuneViolin



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mor went Under the Mountain, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNeptuneViolin/pseuds/TheNeptuneViolin
Summary: Set during acotar, Mor, having gone under the mountain with Rhys, tries to help Feyre out with her Court of Nightmares mask on. Also noteBellowhead.





	Black Beetle Pies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [SongBirdBooks on tumblr](https://songbirdsbooks.tumblr.com) for beta reading this for me.

Feyre had been stuck in the same cell, doing absolutely nothing for the last week - well, except think about that stupid riddle Amarantha had given her.

Feyre knew she’d been forgotten about. It had been three days since the guards had visited her dingy corner, five since someone brought her food. Maybe faeries didn’t realise just how fragile humans were - Lucien certainly hadn’t to begin with. If Rhysand wanted to make something of the bargain he made, he would have to get some food to her before she starved to death. It would be a pitiful end, not even managing to die in one of the challenges set out for her, but alone in a dark corner.

It would always be food, wouldn’t it? Hunting had gotten her into this mess. But at least now she’d had that glimpse at what happiness looked like with Tamlin, and her sisters were safe. Her reason for carrying on living was gone - Feyre was no longer needed. And she was so small in this new world - with a futile mission she would never be allowed to win - what was the point in staying alive, really?

She thought she must be hallucinating when Feyre heard the clamouring of a crowd of drunken people coming from down the corridor towards her. But nevertheless, they got louder.

People were approaching her. Lots of people. Why were they coming? Probably to taunt her, she supposed. There would be no other reason to.

Feyre tried to push her weak body up against the back wall, push herself into the shadows. It was the best way she had to hide - in the one dark corner perhaps her limp body would look like it was already dead.

A crowd of people, some of which Feyre recognised from the court - if you could call it that - upstairs, bustled their way into the tiny room that held Feyre’s cell, led by the blonde woman who seemed to hold some power here.

She, like Rhysand, was undeniably beautiful - not in the same way as all High Fae were but in that same way that Rhysand carried with him, that little something extra. But here both were tainted with an edge of cruelty - one that might have added to their dark allure. She wore a skin-tight, blood red dress, cut low on her chest and a slit high on her leg, that showed off her ample curves. A woman in command of her own body, Feyre thought. Her long hair, held loosely by a pair of batwing combs, fell in waves down her back where she held something, as if hiding from Feyre.

The rest of the crowd were a blur to Feyre, shoving to squeeze into the room, as if in anticipation to see whatever spectacle was about to happen. Feyre only noted that they were all High Fae. Only that woman stood forward, holding her elegance, everyone else giving her a wide berth.

“Do come out, little Feyre.” The woman spoke in a sing-song voice, almost as if talking to a young child, but to taunt them and steal their toys. “We know you’re there.”

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat - she only had a moment to decide if she should do what this woman said or try to wait until they got bored waiting for her.

The woman turned to her companions. “I think she must be scared of us.” Her voice was harder then; she commanded them. There were snickers from the crowd at the comment. The way this woman handled herself and the people that followed her - Feyre thought that under different circumstances, she would have admired this woman.

“We’ve lived in the shadows too, Feyre-” the woman had turned back to Feyre and had resumed that sickly sweet voice- “We know what it’s like to live in the darkness and we know what it feels like when you’re allowed to come out.”

Taunts started to fall from the mouths of the crowd, but a wave of the female’s hand had them all silent again within moments. She had utter control over these faeries - not that same mind control Rhysand had used but control that comes from respect and fear.

Stretching her legs forward, Feyre tried to stand to face the woman but found herself too weak so instead, she settled for shifting forwards on her pallet of hay. Feyre looked the woman in the eyes.

“Ahh, there you are,” the female said with a smirk.

“What do you want?” Feyre asked, trying to sound brave or indignant, but found she just sounded tired.

The female’s smirk grew but Feyre thought she saw the female’s eyes soften a little. “Where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself to you yet. We are from the Night Court, and I am The Morrigan. But you, my new little friend, you may call me Mor.”

“What do you want?” Feyre repeated, a little harsher this time.

The female’s - Mor’s - eyes were definitely softer now, but her voice still taunted Feyre. “We thought the guards around here might have forgotten you, so I made you something.”

Feyre barely had the energy to ask her. She almost didn’t want to know, but suspected some cruel horror awaited her - that’s how Under the Mountain seemed to work. “What?”

“We know that humans need food and we know that human food isn’t as nice as the food here in Prythian, so I made you my speciality.” Mor moved whatever it was she was holding from behind her back and brought it out in front of her. To Feyre, it looked like pie - a normal pie - but that didn’t explain the way the court laughed as if they were in on a joke that Feyre didn’t understand.

Mor took a step forward towards Feyre. “Here,” she said holding the pie out in front of her but still too far to reach from where Feyre sat. She was going to make Feyre get up for this, wasn’t she? Just to taunt her even more.

Trying not to show how weak she was, Force her legs beneath her. Every step, even while so pitifully small, was agony. Feyre tried her best not to show how much it hurt or let anyone hear her groans.

She reached a point where she could just reach out, arm at full extension, and grab the pie and looked for any obvious signs of something wrong with it. Seeing nothing, Feyre reached out and took hold of the pie with her tattooed hand. She tried to take it from Mor but she held firm.

“Now, Feyre, where are your manners?” She was talking to Feyre like a child again - scolding her.

“I’m just an ignorant human, remember?” Feyre deadpanned. Maybe if she was unpleasant enough, someone would just end her suffering now.

Mor seemed to accept this as an excuse for her rudeness and let go of the plate at this so Feyre went back to the sorry hay she had been calling a bed and sat back down. All eyes were on Feyre, expectantly.

She began to examine the pie closely, warily. She couldn’t see anything that looked out of the ordinary. It felt like a normal pie too.

“Do take a bite, Feyre. It will make us so happy.” Her voice almost seductive then.

Not wanting to risk it yet, still anticipating a nasty surprise, Feyre decided not to take the pie straight to her mouth but instead pulled off a piece of the crust.

From the small hole Feyre had made in the crust, swarmed a mass of black, some of it swirled into the air and some dropped straight to the floor. Beetles. There were live beetles in this pie. More than should have been able to fit inside.

The Court was laughing now, cackling outright. Mor’s face was stony as she glared at the insects for a moment. She turned and the crowd parted around her as she strode out of the small room, her entourage filtering out behind her.

Someone in the crowd began a chant: “Black beetle pies. Black beetle pies.” the rest of the group picked it up quickly, sounding more and more maniacal as they moved further and further away from Feyre’s cell, leaving her in silence once more.

Feyre was so hungry that she decided to inspect the pie once more. Afterall, Mor had been right - the guards had forgotten her and she wasn’t likely to get food again anytime soon. After she pulled off more crust, Feyre found the inside still full of some sort of meat - chicken, Feyre guessed - so she decided to risk it. She took a small bite from the pie, finding the filling still warm. It didn’t taste bad so she ate a little more. And a little more. And a little more, until, before she knew it, Feyre had eaten the entire pie and found herself feeling full.

It didn’t take much longer for Feyre to fall, for once, into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

Mor strode into Rhys’ chambers, not wanting to let the mask she kept up drop until she heard the click of the door behind her. Mor felt her body sag immediately against the doorframe, letting herself resume. “I hate this, Rhys.”

Mor walked further into his room, pulling her shoes off as she went, as she approached where Rhys was lying on his own bed. “She doesn’t deserve this cruelty. It just makes me feel so guilty.”

Rhys pushed himself further upright to look Mor in the eyes. “I know,” his honesty and fragility boring its way into Mor’s weary soul. No one else had seen this side of Rhys for the last fifty years. “It hurts but she’s our best chance. Such a small chance but nonetheless the only one we have.” He stopped for a short minute to think about his words, raking a hand through his hair. “We need to keep Feyre alive but we also need to keep these positions we’ve carved out for ourselves. It’s-”

Mor cut him off. “I know all that. But _she_ doesn’t.” Her voice cracked. “I want to tell her. I just want to tell her.”

As she collapsed onto the bed next to Rhys, Mor felt the tears begin to fall from her eyes. She knew she cared so much and yet there was nothing she could do.


End file.
